A Celebration of Life
by Milk-and-Hope
Summary: "But … But what if one of us dies? I mean, all of us will die at some point. But one of us will be the first one." She shouldn't have said that. She had ruined the mood. Alas, that's how it always went lately. Everything was fine … until a song, a smell, a picture or a single word reminded her of what had happened. And she hated it. / emotional, angsty Chelsie fic
1. Prologue

_**To M.**_

_**With all my love**_

_**Wherever you might be**_

**Prologue**

**Downton, Yorkshire, August 1999**

It's always been like that. Their friends didn't knock or ring the bell, they didn't phone first, they simply came in. Their cottage's been a home to so many people, even though most of them never actually lived there.

It was a wonderful life. A big family. Her rose bushes were blooming and his chicken ran all over the green grass behind their house. There were a tree house, a seesaw, a little slide and of course the sandbox, also known as the place where Beryl Patmore once woke up at ten o'clock in the morning with a massive hangover.

A perfect idyll, really. William's piano and the barking of their two dogs, cheerful little miniature schnauzers, were the soundtrack to the dream they had made come true.

Elsie Carson smiled to herself as she gazed over all the little things that made her life so wonderful:

Her friends sitting on the patio, gossiping and sipping at their ciders, laughing loudly. In the background she could watch her husband, Charlie, trying to fix up a canopy swing they'd bought the day before. He seemed to be mildly overchallenged with his task, truth be told. She grinned as she heard him shouting in the distance.

It was heaven.

"Could you please stop leaning against that wall like a drunk teenager and join us? You wouldn't want us to play cards without you, would you?" Beryl's nagging voice was one she'd recognize in any situation, even if there were thousands of people surrounding them.

"Of course, I was just ..." Away with the fairies, but in a very good way. Alas, she didn't get the chance to finish her sentence.

"Staring and grinning like an idiot, that's what you were! Now sit down!"

Fridays were rummy nights, it's been like that for more than twenty years now, ever since they had moved to Downton and made this cottage a home.

Elsie did as she was told and grabbed her bottle. "I'm impressed that Isobel is still willing to give us another chance after how we literally eviscerated her last week." She chuckled, knowing too well that Isobel was the only good loser of all the women.

"Oh, I didn't mind, really. At least I didn't wake up in the sandbox after Charlie's birthday party. That comforted me." That side glance to Beryl was priceless.

Elsie picked up the cards and started to shuffle.

"Wasn't there a story about all three of you waking up in London after what was meant to be a night at the local pub?," Anna asked, smiling coyly. She was the youngest of the regular participants of their rummy night, but she fit in just perfectly.

Elsie had to think for a minute just what the girl was talking about. "Oh, that! Back when we were young and wild and childless! It was Beryl's idea, by the way!"

Beryl raised her hands and clicked her tongue. "I didn't do anything wrong. And it was a great night if I remember correctly."

"Someone had stolen my brand new high heels," Elsie added, beginning to deal the cards.

"Oh yes! The red ones. Weren't they a gift from Charlie?" Isobel knitted her brows as she picked up her cards.

"One of the very first ones, yes. He was _fuming_ when he had to pick us up."

They certainly had a past. A very interesting one.

Birthday parties, weddings, births, funerals … And they were still young! At least Elsie wouldn't say they were _old_.

"For heaven's sake, Elsie! Can't you deal me good cards at least once in my lifetime?" Beryl always complained about her cards but ended up winning often enough.

Elsie smirked and knew too well that at least for now, she'd win. Three aces, two jokers as well as seven, eight and nine of spades.

"By the way, has anyone heard something from Phyllis Baxter? I thought she fit in perfectly well last week. I had hoped she'd come tonight, too." Anna looked at Elsie, Phyllis was her new neighbour after all so she seemed to assume she knew something.

"All I can say is that a certain black Volvo was seen picking her up just two hours ago."

Isobel grinned silently, but Beryl had something to say, of course.

"A black Volvo as in Joseph Molesley's black Volvo? My, my … Let's hope Joseph won't mess this up." Joseph Molesley was their hopeless friend. Hopeless as in _never gets past the first date-hopeless_.

"I never said it was his black Volvo," Elsie replied, but there really was no doubt. And then she emptied her cider and displayed her cards.

"I wish I had your luck." Isobel picked up a card and let out a frustrated sigh.

Suddenly, Charlie came to the patio, sweaty but obviously happy, since he smiled the broadest smile.

"Ladies ..." He opened his arms, a gesture of pride, as it seemed. "The deed is done! The canopy swing is ready for you!"

He had done it! Perfect!

"So, my girls, what do you say? Shall we lay our cards down and see what my dear husband has done for us?"

Her friends had stood up before she even finished her question.

Elsie turned her head and tilted it upwards. The window to William's room was still open. "William?," she shouted.

Her son's head popped out. "You didn't like the songs I played, did you?"

"No, it's not that, but you could play less Celine Dion and more Waterboys, please. Anyway, do you want to come down? Da's finished the canopy swing!"

He nodded and his head disappeared.

"Elsie! Elsie!" That was Beryl, screaming her name and shouting with glee. Elsie could see her sitting on the swing, Isobel and Anna next to her.

"Hey! You could have waited for me, you know!"

Elsie walked as fast as she could, but she still wore her nice black leather pumps and the grass didn't exactly agree with them.

"All of you behave like little girls, you know?" Charlie watched them, hands on his hips.

"Now, shall your wife behave like a little girl, too?" She approached him, caressed his cheek with her thumb and planted a featherlight kiss on his lips.

"If my lovely wife wants to do that, then I'm perfectly fine with it." Liar. He _wanted_ to see her on that swing, laughing and howling.

So she joined the other women.

"Now, girls, make room for Elsie Hughes Carson!"

She had just found some space between Anna and Isobel when William arrived, his father's camera in his hands.

"Your not taking a picture of us, William!" Just then, they started to swing again. Back and forth, back and forth, roaring with laughter, and of course William took some pictures.

It was fun. Big fun, actually.

Until, with a dull bang, on of the ropes tore and all four women landed on the ground, the scaffold of the swing scattered around them.

"Ouch!" Elsie touched her head. That hurt. Some kind of iron bar had hit her.

Beryl had managed to fall into the only puddle near them and Anna's head still rested on the seating surface.

Isobel was the first one to laugh. "Damn it! Charlie!"

"Now, help us up!," Beryl commanded.

Elsie tried to get up on her own, rolling her eyes as she realized how dirty her light blue summer dress had gotten.

Her husband, the perfect gentleman as always, assisted Beryl, but William took pictures.

That boy couldn't be serious.

"Your mum and her friends just had a horrible accident, William Carson! Couldn't you at least pretend to help us in any way?" But she did the what was funny. "And Charlie, what have you done? Or what haven't you done?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose you were too heavy."

"Heavy?! Charles! We are not heavy! We could have died!" Beryl harrumphed, mocking her best friend's husband.

No, that wasn't true. They couldn't have died, not because of a canopy swing that fell apart.

Elsie gulped.

Her mother had died just two months prior, after a long and hard battle with cancer.

She hated how the grief seemed to come and go in waves and didn't like that she suddenly got serious.

"But … But what if one of us dies? I mean, all of us will die at some point. But one of us will be the first one." She shouldn't have said that. SHe had ruined the mood. Alas, that's how it always went lately. Everything was fine … until a song, asmell, a picture or a single word reminded her of what had happened.

And she hated it.

For what seemed to be an eternity, nobody replied anything. But Isobel seemed to understand. She seemed to sense that Elsie had thought of her dear mother, just because Beryl had mentioned the word _die_.

"Then we'll get through this together, Elsie." She reached out, grabbed Elsie's hand.

"Exactly, then we'll get through it together."Anna added, back on her feet.

"Don't we do everything together anyhow? The good and the bad things?" With that, Beryl reached for Elsie's other hand and squeezed it silently.

She took a deep breath and then she forced herself to manage a weak smile. She had to live on. Somehow.

"Talking about good things … Shall we continue our card game?"

**Yes. I am back. **

**And I hope you're still willing to keep up with me because big parts of this are already written and I'll definitely finish it, because it's cathartic and like therapy.**

**I've been a horrible fandom member lately, but I'll update "Fairytale of Old York" soon as well and I try to read and review.**


	2. Suddenly

**Alright. I will hide under the table now.**

**I know most of you will hate this and won't be willing to read any more of my newest fic ... I don't blame you for that tbqh.**

**Chapter One**

**Downton, Yorkshire, July 2019**

The hottest summer she could remember. And she remembered a lot of summers, they had celebrated her 65th birthday in May after all.

No wonder she couldn't sleep. Who could find sleep in a blasted oven? And the whole house felt like one. Hopefully, their holiday with the Carsons in two weeks' time would cool them down a bit. Swimming in the sea, splashing in the cold water, collecting shells at the beach … She was already looking forward to this, very much so.

Beryl Patmore got up, grunting. It was frustrating. Her free day and she left her bed at 6:30 in the bloody morning.

But if she was awake anyhow, she could as well prepare Alfred's lunch for work.

So she plodded to her kitchen, putting the kettle on, turning the radio on, trying to get awake.

At least they played Roxette, one of her favourite bands.

_She's got nothing on, but the radio ...Stereo …_

Beryl began to swing her hips to the beat, remembering how she and the girls (Not girls anymore, women really, for decades now) danced to that song when it first came out.

Oh, the parties they've had …

The next one was only days away. Not a real party, but little Johnny's birthday. When exactly had Elsie said would they buy the present? Monday? Tuesday?

It didn't matter, not now. She had to start her day. There was no need for Alfred to buy his lunch at Tesco Express.

And just when she was about to open the fridge, her house telephone rang. She didn't even own a smartphone, even though Elsie told her again and again that she needed one. Perhaps something she could treat herself with for Christmas.

Who could that be that early? Had she forgotten something? Had Elsie and Isobel planned something for today? A quick glance at the calendar. No. She had always written down _everything_ at her calendar. Even Alfred's appointments, should the boy forget something.

The phone still rang.

"Patmore?"

"Beryl?" She furrowed her brow. That was Ethel, Elsie's daughter-in-law, and her voice was shaking, she sounded so upset, even though she'd only said one word.

"What is it, dear?"

A long pause. She could hear the girl struggling to breathe.

* * *

"Your son doesn't manage to eat his small bowl of cornflakes in less than an hour." Anna shook her head in amusement, not even looking at her husband as she talked to him. She was busy preparing his breakfast anyhow. Just in her PJs and the towelling dressing gown with the zebra print Elsie had given to her on her last birthday, but even that huge thing couldn't conceal her by now enormous baby bump.

"He has another thirty minutes left before he has to leave for school, hasn't he?" John leaned against the kitchen counter, already dressed for work, clutching a steaming mug of tea with both hands.

"Yes. It's just that he could sleep a little bit longer if it didn't take him hours to eat." She reached for the loaf of bread and the butter.

"TV and cornflakes … the dream of every eight year old boy, I'd say."

"He is _spoiled_, Mr. Bates." She didn't know why, but somehow she loved to call him Mr. Bates. Perhaps because she was _Mrs._ Bates and to her, that'd be forever a reason to be proud.

"Talking about spoiling our son … Will Elsie take him to the zoo today or tomorrow?"

Very good question. Anna bit her bottom lip. Somehow, she became more and more oblivious as the pregnancy progressed.

"Tomorrow, I think. But we'll buy stuff for his birthday party this afternoon. She'll bake a cake for the party and Beryl will make sure dinner won't end with fifteen starving adults and a lot of wailing kids. God knows where I'd be without them." It was true. She'd be lost without her older friends and especially Elsie had always been there for her. Even if she spoiled Johnny.

John emptied his mug and put it into the dishwasher.

"Perhaps we should think about a way to thank her properly. I now from Charles that she's never been to Paris but wants to very badly."

It was very sweet of him to think of that, really, and Anna loved him for his thoughtfulness, but that was a bit much.

"That's a bit expensive, isn't it?" She took a lunchbox out of the wall cupboard and filled it with the sandwiches she'd made.

"We could club together and flights aren't that expensive anymore."

Anna smirked. "Don't tell that Greta."

John let out a tinny laughter.

Then her smartphone rang. She reached on to the pocket of her robe and looked at the screen.

"Speaking of the Carsons … Charles is calling. Do you want to pick up? I'm sure it's for you, wherever your phone is." He was always looking for it and never remembered where he last put it.

"Thank you." He reached for his wife's phone and picked up.

"Good morning, Charles! How can I help you?"

When she felt his hands upon hers, Anna turned her head and looked into her husband's face.

It had suddenly gotten ashen. He didn't say anything and Anna panicked,

Something was awfully wrong.

* * *

"Do we have to get up that early? We are retired."

Isobel sighed as she put on her lime green summer dress and looked at her husband for three months.

She knew well enough that she was retired, as was he. But that didn't mean that all they'd do from now on was sleeping in and eating grapes by the pool, as she had told him multiple times before.

"Yes, we are retired. And we are parents, grandparents, godparents, friends and most of all: still terribly busy."

To that, George was staying with them, because Mary and Matthew were on holiday in the Caribbean, which meant the little boy had to get to school somehow. Thankfully, Elsie hat agreed to pick him up. George and Charlie were best friends anyhow.

Elsie, another Grandma who never seemed to have free time.

"Will you come back to bed when George's away?" Dicke looked at her with those huge, pleading eyes of his and Isobel just rolled her eyes in response.

No, she would not come back to bed.

"You were the one who had promised Mary to keep an eye on their plants and dogs while they are away and I dare say Cher and Liza are already hungry." She stood in front of the mirror now, trying to put her hair up with as little effort as possible.

"They are English bulldogs, they are always hungry. And drivelling. They are always drivelling."

She had to agree there, her son's dogs were definitely not the prettiest dogs they've ever seen.

Much to her surprise, Dickie got out of bed and approached her, put his hands on her shoulders.

"I'll accompany you, love."

Usually, she knew exactly what he would do or not do, but sometimes he still managed to surprise him.

"How late is it, Dickie?" A question she could easily answer herself if she just looked at her phone. But she had given that to George twenty minutes before.

"Half past seven.," he replied and it was only then that Isobel realized that Dickie hadn't put his pyjama shirt back on.

"Goodness, Elsie's due to pick George up every minute now. GEORGE!" She left the room, hoping her grandson was ready.

Thankfully, he was. He sat on the stairs, his Grandma's phone in his hands to watch silly videos on YouTube.

"Sweetie, Charlie and his Grandma will pick you up every minute now. Did you pack your lunch?"

The blonde boy looked up. "Uncle William called and asked if you could bring Charlie and me to school."

Nice. He told her that in the last nick of time. Wonderful.

And weird.

"William you said? Isn't he at the veterinary practice already?"

Her grandson was back staring at the phone, watching his blasted videos. "No idea. He said you should call him back."

And that was the moment Isobel knew something was awfully wrong.

* * *

His.

Even three months, two weeks and four days after he had officially become owner of _Molesley and Son funeral directors_, he still felt that sense of pride every time he turned the key in the door lock to their premises. His wife, Phyllis, stood right behind him, waiting for another day as the secretary. She did her job well, like all of them.

"Isn't it wonderful to start the day with the sun already shining?"

He took off his baseball cap and reached for the black suit jacket at the cloak hanger. Professionalism was the most important thing about his work.

No matter if it was awfully hot or freezing outside, he was the one grief stricken bereaved people turned to in their darkest hour.

Which didn't mean that he didn't love his job.

he could make difference. His kindness mattered, it was helping and comforting. And if he couldn't handle a particularly hard situation, there was always Phyllis to hold his hand.

"Please remember to call back the cemetery administration, they wanted to talk to you in person," his wife told him as she went to the coffee maker. That was always the first thing she did in the morning. Coffee for her, Earl Grey for him.

"I will, darling. And I'll have to send someone to Eufloria Flowers in Thirsk. All the flower arrangements for the Lewis funeral are too much for their van and they asked for help."

He sat down at his desk, starting the computer and wondering if he had forgotten something, which was the case on most days.

"Poor Mr. Henderson, he really had to suffer so much and for so long." She handed him his steaming mug of tea and began to gently massage his shoulders.

"Thank you, darling." He blew over the hot beverage and took a deep breath. "Which doesn't make it less hard for Mrs. Henderson." They knew that. It often didn't matter if the deceased was gravely ill or not. Nothing on this earth could prepare a person for the death of a loved one.

"Oh, on a lighter note, I discussed the _situation_ with the suit you ordered."

Oh. That was the thing he had forgotten about. The suit he had ordered, since he had gained a little bit of weight lately, only twelve pounds. They had sent him not a black one, but one in bright red and he needed a new one desperately.

"Elsie is friends with a men's tailor and phoned him. He said he'd give her rebate, and it's very high quality."

He let out a loud breath. Elsie was from heaven sent, truly. How often had she helped them? And now she had done it again.

"Wonderful!" He took a sip of his tea. "I'll keep the red one, though. I like the colour and it's perfect for weddings!"

His wife chuckled. "Yes, if it's a gay wedding and you are the bride!" She chuckled.

He was just about to look at her in shock for such a comment when the phone on her desk rang.

And their workday started. A lot of people died at night or in the early hours o the morning, many in the bathroom, and he couldn't even a remember a night where none of his employees had had a call between ten AM and seven PM.

"Molesley and Son funeral directors, you are speaking to Phyllis Molesley"

He barely paid any attention to her in that moment. It was a routine.

"Alright. We will come." She never just answered in four words. That was unsuual.

So unusual that he instantly knew someone they knew had died.

**I won't even ask for reviews.**


	3. Minnie

**Chapter Two**

**I'm quite stunned. There are actually people who still read this :D Thank you SO much for your support.**

**This is angsty and dramatic, yes. But it's also what it's called ... a celebration of life.**

**(Sadly, I'm not a native speaker and don't have a beta, so please forgive me my many mistakes.)**

**Downton, Yorkshire, December 1986**

"I'm afraid that's the only black coat I own that still fits." Elsie was frustrated, not liking at all what she saw in the mirror. That old woolen thing was at least ten years old, she had gotten it as a Christmas gift once, back in Scotland. It was worn out and there was a massive hole in the right pocket. She had never even bothered to stitch it. At least it managed to conceal her small bump. Nobody who didn't already know would notice. Not that she wanted to hide it, but … A funeral wasn't exactly the perfect occasion to talk about her unborn child.

She turned around to look at Charlie, who sat on the bed, already dressed in his black suit and a black coat.

Black.

Black.

Everything today would be black.

And she hated the whole idea of that. It was a tradition, of course. Black was the colour of mourning and she did understand that.

But even though she hadn't known Patrick too well, she knew that he was a cheerful man, who liked to travel a lot. He was funny, always made jokes about his wife Violet and their children, about everything, really. They had lost a passionate dog lover, a literate man and also an entertainer. He wouldn't care about all the black clothes and the wet handkerchiefs, that was for sure.

"Charlie?" She noticed how he kept staring at his shoes, lost in thought. Of course he was distraught, mourning, dreading the moment they'd see the coffin. "I know this is hard for you. And I know there's absolutely nothing I could say that would make you feel better." Elsie sat down next to him, reaching for his hand, squeezing it tight.

"He was ill, he was suffering. He's not suffering anymore. I should find comfort in that. But I can't." Of course he couldn't. He had lost a fatherly figure, someone to look up to and to reassure him. It was a loss, would ever be one.

"You know what he said to me shortly after we had told the Crawleys about the baby?" Elsie hoped her husband would listen, would laugh about Patrick's wicked sense of humour.

"What was it, dear?" He looked up.

"_Don't you dare naming the poor child after me. I expect you to be more creative._" She smiled and was so relieved when Charlie smiled, too.

"He had known he wouldn't make it."

"That he had."

They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. "That's Beryl. I asked her to pick us up. It'll be hard to find a spot to park the car." Violet had talked about hundreds of people she expected to do honour to her late husband. Not that Elsie took much of what that woman said seriously, but this time she might be right.

"Great. I expect her to play loud rock songs in the car. Everyone will look at us." He got up and checked his pockets.

"The condolence card is in my bag, Charlie. Now, shall we?" She would _not_ reply to that silly comment he had just made. Beryl might be a bit quirky, but she was not irreverent.

* * *

He would have liked that.

Elsie bit her bottom lip and glanced at the framed photo of Charles and Patrick she had hung on the wall a few days earlier. She could hear her friends chatting in the kitchen, Cora laughed and her husband told a story about how Violet and her husband had once missed their flight and had to hitchhike all the way from Nizza to Pairs.

He would have liked to be remembered like that.

On the other hand, Elsie was quite sure that he would have rolled his eyes at the huge his widow had organized. His coffin on a carriage drawn by four horses, a brass band playing _Nessum Dorma _and women wearing hats with black veils.

No. That wasn't what Patrick would have wanted.

She took a sip of her tea and let her fingers glide over the green and red necklace she wore. A gift from him, after one of his trips to Turkey.

Elsie caressed her growing belly. It was a pity her child would never meet Patrick.

He had been more of him than the father of Charlie's friend.

He had been somehow to talk to. Oh, and how often they had talked … how often, how long and how deeply.

"Elsie, come and join us!" That was Cora.

Of course, she should go back. Their friends needed their support. It was still the day of the funeral after all.

They sat at the round wooden table, each of them holding a glass of wine.

Both Robert and Cora looked horrible. Their faces puffy from crying and ashen from mourning in general. But now they smiled.

"Truth be told, I'm quite positive my father was the only man on the planet who was able to put up with my mother." Robert raised his eyebrows as he said that. then he sighed.

"It was quite hard not to chuckle when the minister spoke of his _calm and gentle wife_, to be honest. But … he loved her." Cora looked at Elsie.

They had talked about that very topic only days before.

Patrick had loved his wife and knowing that she would have to go through the pain of losing him was possible the one thing that had kept him going for so long.

"Well, he's always had a sense of humour, so he would have liked that as well.," replied Elsie, finally sitting down next to Charlie.

"Yes. He would have liked that." Her husband's voice was still quivering, he was still shaken, not ready to realize that his fatherly figure would never come back. But he had to allow death to become a part of his life. And Elsie would help him with that.

So she squeezed his hand and mouthed "Go on." Because she somehow knew that tehre was more he wanted to say.

"He … He would also have liked us to support each other. Like a family. And to go on as if he was simply on another one of his trips."

With that, they raised their glasses (and Elsie her cup of tea)

"To Patrick, wherever he might be."

* * *

**Downton, Yorkshire, July 2019**

Minnie.

Elsie had given her that nickname on the very day they first met. To her mother-in-law, she had always been Minnie, not Ethel. Because she had absolutely hated that name. Ethel sounded like a 98-year old lady with hearing aids and facial hair, not like a vibrant, cheerful young lady.

Elsie had chosen _Minnie_ because of the Minnie Mouse sweater she had worn and it simply fit.

Thankfully, most people had adapted that and by know, she was gnerally known as Minnie Parks Carson, which she liked very much.

Minnie.

She stared at the coffee machine in front of her.

Elsie had always loved her tea but had also said that some situations in life demanded something stronger.

She needed to make coffee. She needed something to do, something to think about, something to distract her.

She couldn't possible go outside. Staring at the death certificate, struggling to breath and just sitting at a table with so many other people who couldn't say a single word.

No. She couldn't think about it. She didn't even realize it. She didn't want to.

It wasn't simply the shock.

She refused to live in a world without Elsie in it. It wasn't a possibility.

No.

Coffee.

The coffee. Her task. Her fruitless attempt to focus on anything.

She had already put the kettle on. Not everyone liked coffee.

Water, she needed water first. Now, how did Elsie do it? She had watcher her often enough, she should know.

She closed her eyes.

_Minnie, I think we need coffee._

_Minnie, that has been a day that demands one thing: coffee_

_Girls, don't think my American friend Cora has talked me into something, but I need a coffee._

She could hear her voice, saw her grabbing the coffee caddy.

Elsie was such a big part of her life. Had taught her some many things. Had shown her that she deserved a loving family.

Elsie was in the bathroom.

And she was dead.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't be dead.

It was not … possible. It wasn't fair. It wasn't anything. Because it couldn't be.

Somehow she managed to start the coffee brewer and simply stared at it as Anna came into the kitchen, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Do … Do you need any help?" Her bottom lip was quivering.

No, Ethel didn't _need_ help but could imagine that Anna wanted to do something, just as she did.

In a way, she envied the other woman. She could cry. She could process what had happened.

Ethel was still in denial. And in a way, she didn't even want to cry. Tears would make it real and if it was real, Elsie was gone.

"Yes," she finally replied. "We need coffee mugs and tea cups for everyone, perhaps some water … It's so hot outside."

She needed to think practically. She needed to think practically in order to think at all. She needed to focus on silly things. Like tea mugs and coffee brewers.

"Jo … Joseph's employees will arrive in about twenty minutes." Now Anna stood right next to her, opening the wall cupboard.

"Someone has to open the gate. They … They shouldn't park their car outside."

"Dickie already said that. He was one of the very few people who said anything at all."

Ethel knew that. They simply sat there, on the patio, at Elsie's beloved wooden table, on _her _wicker chairs, in _her _garden.

"Did … Did Charles or William say … Clothing …." Deep, gentle breaths. Focussing on the task at hand … forming a proper sentence. And making a decision. Because neither Charles nor William were able to do anything at all. She knew that well enough. They had already _begun_ to udnerstand.

Ethel hadn't. Thankfully.

"Tell Isobel and Beryl to picks ome clothes for Elsie to wear. She's … She's in her underwear."

She knew that because she had seen it.

And she'd never forget it.

* * *

"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things."

― Lemony Snicket


	4. Staring

**My dear readers,**

**I won't lie. I was about to delete this story, since it was hardly a much beloved fanfic.**

**BUT**

**The wonderful meetmeinstlouie suddenly reblogged the link on tumblr and left me the most wonderful reviews. Her encouragement is the reason for this chapter =)**

**And now I'll definitely finish it.**

**Because it demands to be written**

**Chapter Three**

**Downton, Yorkshire, July 1987**

Scones.

She hated making scones and she didn't care for clotted cream either. But she had promised Charlie to do her best and now here she was:

In the middle of her kitchen, which was an absolute mess, flour in her hair, a baby in the bassinet behind her and the _Stones_ playing on the radio.

And everything for someone she didn't even like. She accepted Violet and Elsie knew just what a strong and fierce woman she was, but there was absolutely no need for them to cuddle up. They'd never be friends, but what they'd always be was a part of Charlie's life. Therefor, they had to get along somehow.

And if Violet hadn't lost her husband seven months ago, Elsie surely wouldn't have made such an effort to entertain her, but well … She was a nice person and nice people did nice things.

She sighed and literally threw the empty mixing bowl into the sink. It was frustrating.

Elsie could make sure that her family didn't starve but baking had never been one of her favourite activities.

"Is everything alright?" That was Charlie's deep voice and as she turned around, she could see him leaning against the doorframe.

No, it was not, not exactly.

"Well, take a look around, Charlie. As it seems, some scones are overwhelming me." It wasn't only that. She hadn't seen Beryl in nearly a week. She hadn't put on any make-up in two months and she couldn't even remember her last lazy afternoon.

Not that Charlie wasn't being supportive; quite the opposite actually, but …. BUT. There was always a _but_. She had thought motherhood would fulfill her, that her life would be perfect from now on, their little family of three … But it wasn't. Elsie couldn't even name the reason, but she knew she wasn't happy.

He didn't say anything in response. He simply hugged her, stroked her hair and planted a featherlight kiss on her forehead.

It was as if he felt what she couldn't put into words.

And that was why she had married him … They were made for each other.

They simply stood there like that for minutes and it was exactly what Elsie needed. His love was what kept her going and somehow she'd figure out what was wrong with her right now, but perhaps there was no need for that to happen right now.

"I've never made scones before," she eventually whispered, her eyes still closed. She wanted to embrace their closeness without staring at the floor.

"I don't love you for your baking skills."

she managed a weak smile. "Which baking skills?" Elsie always tried to joke in difficult situations, it made them a little bit easier.

"I can call Violet. She doesn't have to visit us."

Elsie opened her eyes, straightened her back and put her hand on his chest. "Oh yes, she _has_ to. She is your family and she needs to get out."

That was the point. Everyone who had lost someone needed support, even Violet Crawley.

* * *

**Downton, Yorkshire, July 2019**

He felt like an intruder, as if he wasn't meant to be here. The people around him were Elsie's closest circle, her friends, her family. He was just one of her friend's second husband.

Dickie took a sip of his tea and said nothing. Like all of them. They just sat there, at that huge wooden table on the patio, in complete silence, waiting for Joseph Molesley to arrive.

William had left a few minutes earlier. The poor boy needed some time alone. Some time to realize what had happened.

Charles clutched his mug with both hands and Dickie didn't remember seeing him drinking coffee ever before.

Isobel cried, but didn't wheep. Most of them cried and he couldn't. He somehow felt he needed to be strong, to keep a clear head. He would have to open the gate and later he'd pick up the boys from school, perhaps taking them to the zoo or something.

He didn't have right to mourn, but he needed to function, that was all he could do to help now.

He might not have been close to Elsie, but he had known her well enough to know that she had always found a way to keep things going. She would have wanted someone, perhaps even him, to do just that.

"Her … her blue dress. Minnie and I have put the blue dress on the stairs.," Anna muttered, barely audible.

She sat next to him, one hand on her baby bump.

A child Elsie had already shopped clothes for. Isobel had told him she had tried to knit a sweater, even though she hadn't done any knitting in ages.

Charlie, seated at the front side of the table, nodded, but didn't look up. "Her favourite."

Dickie licked his lips and turned his head to look at Isobel. She silently reached out for his hand. She needed his support. They all did.

He wasn't used to Isobel being so quiet, so knocked-out, overwhelmed …

Again, silence.

He wondered if Beryl Patmore had ever been silent for so long. The redhead seemed to be barely present, like a shell, like a waxwork.

The only one who wasn't able to sit still was Minnie, Elsie's daughter-in-law. She had brought them coffee, had fed the chicken and the dogs, now she was inside the house again, doing the laundry she had said.

Sitting there was torture.

How could this be real?

How could Elsie be dead?

She had been fine. Absolutely healthy. Enjoying life.

And now her dead body lay just a few feet away from them, in the bathroom.

It couldn't be true.

He refused to believe that all of this was not some kind of nightmare.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be.

But real or not, someone, anyone, needed to funcion.

And that person was him.

He looked at all the faces around him, at tears and shaking hands, quivering lips and tears rolling down pale cheeks.

Elsie Carson was gone and for a lot of people, this was too much to take.

He decided that it was time to get up, to open the gate, looking out for Joseph Molesley … who would take her away from them. Forever.

* * *

"_Minnie, take your phone down!" Elsie laughed, a paper hat on her head, glitter on her cheeks and a huge cake in front of her. All the burning candles in front of her made her pull a silly face. "You could think it was my 100th birthday!" Elsie reached for her glass of champagne, taking a sip. _

_She was positively glowing, happy, streamers made of paper around her neck, her loved ones around her._

"_Granny! Blow them out! Go, Granny, go!" Charlie clapped to cheer her on. Beryl Patmore stood behind her, munching a cupcake and _Happy Birthday _played in the background._

"_Alright! Let's go!" Elsie took a deep breath and tried to blow out the candles. A fruitless attempt. She didn't even manage half of them._

_Throwing back her head, she laughed with all of her heart. "I'm really getting old!"," she howled as her husband came into the picture. "Shall I help you, darling?"_

"_You just want a slice of that cake as soon as possible, my love." She looked up at him, still beaming. "But you might help. Let's do it together!"_

Ethel stopped the video, slipped her phone back into her pocket. Elsie's last birthday. None of them would have thought that. it would really be her last one.

But she wasn't dead. No. None of that was real. She had just seen how alive her mother-in-law was. She couldn't be dead. The video was just a few months old.

All was fine. It had to be.

But it wasn't.

Doing the laundry, she had told the others. And she _could_ do the laundry. But right now, she didn't want to distract herself. She felt the sudden urge to _see_ Elsie, to _hear_ her voice. As if to remind herself that she was still there.

But she wasn't.

She heard how someone came into the house and her heart stopped beating for a second.

Please not Joseph.

Don't take her away. Not yet.

Please not.

"Minnie?" That was Beryl's voice.

"Yes, how can I help you?" She left the living room, walked towards Beryl and was somehow ashamed for not being able to cry. Yet.

"Could … Could I use your bathroom upstairs?"

Of course. Because downstairs … Well. Elsie was in the bathroom downstairs.

"Yes, yes of course ..."

They looked each other in the eye, communicating without opening their mouths.

"Don't … don't disturb William, he's in our bedroom." Her husband. She couldn't even start to think about he would possibly cope.

"Of course not, luv."

Shallow words. Not what both of them really wanted, _needed_, to say.

But neither of them had the strength to face reality and thus, certain things were left unsaid.

For now.

* * *

"Sadly enough, the most painful goodbyes are the ones that are left unsaid and never explained."  
― Jonathan Harnisch, **Freak**


End file.
